


Permission Slip

by vjs2259



Series: Season of No Shadows [7]
Category: Babylon 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vjs2259/pseuds/vjs2259
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No Shadows AU.<br/>Everything is going really well, and then you have to meet her folks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permission Slip

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words.

"John? May I speak with you?"

John Sheridan was seated behind his desk, stranded behind piles of files. He couldn't see the speaker, but of course he recognized her voice. He heard an uncertain tone in it, almost a pleading note. John rose and walked around the desk to where Delenn stood in the doorway. Placing his hands on her shoulders and dipping his head to look into her downcast eyes, he asked, "Are you all right?" He noted that one hand was twisted in the fabric of her dress, and the other rubbed the back of her neck, both characteristic betrayals of nervous tension.

"I am fine," she answered at last, slowly peering up at him through thick lashes.  
John resisted the urge to kiss her. "You are not fine. You look fine, and you certainly smell fine." He brushed her hair with his lips, taking a moment to drink in the scent of her perfume. Whispering into her ear, he said huskily, "You probably taste fine, too. Care to come back to my quarters and let me put it to the test?"

Delenn shook her head, but John could just see a slight smile form behind the fall of her hair. "Come on," he urged. "You can tell me. What's up?"

She hesitated, and he began to feel a thread of anxiety tug at him. "Now you're starting to worry me," he said. Pulling her over towards a low couch he settled her into an empty space, lodged a small bolster cushion behind her back and sat beside her, all the while keeping one of her hands enclosed in his. "What is it?”

Delenn sighed softly, then straightened her back and lifted her chin. "It is time," she said.

"Time for what?" John demanded. Then, with mounting dread, he asked, "It's not another ritual, is it?.

She looked surprised, as if struck by the idea. "Not as such. Not exactly. It is just that someone wishes to make your acquaintance."

John took a moment to mentally catalog recent ship arrivals from Minbar. There hadn't been one in over a week. "Who is it?" he finally asked, falling back on the direct approach.

She began hesitantly, "An old friend. Of my father's and of my own. He was my tutor, and is an elder of my clan."

"OK," replied John, puzzled. "Sounds great. Where's he been hiding out? Down in the Minbari sector?" He shook his head. "If he's a friend of yours we can find him quarters in the VIP area. More room and easier for you to visit back and forth."

Delenn smiled at this. "I do not get to see him often these days. He is quite, let us say, 'wrapped up' in his position."

Now she was teasing him, which was okay, he liked that. "I'll bite. What does he do around here?" Her lips pursed together, eminently kissable, and he decided he could wait for his answer.

After a pleasant but brief interlude, she pulled away, laughing and said, "John, I will never finish this request if you do not let me speak!"

John smiled back. "Time well spent." Looking over her shoulder at the stack of work on his desk, he said, "But you're right. Now who are we talking about, where do we meet up with him, and why now?"

Delenn leaned back into his encircling arm. "His name is Draal, he is the keeper of the Great Machine on Epsilon 3, and he wishes to know your intentions." Removing his free hand from its exploration of her mid-section, she added in coda, "Towards me."

John's mind stuttered as it went through recent and past indications of his precise intentions, including this morning's excursions in distraction. "Fine," he finally said with an inward slight shrug. He didn't have anything to hide. They were both adults and free agents. Well, he was anyway, giving his usual mental caress to the memory of his lost wife. Anna would have wanted him to be happy, he knew that. Tightening his grip on the source of his new happiness, he said, "This is good. I've been meaning to get down to the planet. Jeff Sinclair's reports were a little vague in places but it was clear he was impressed, both with the Machine, and with its Keeper." He looked sideways at Delenn, who seemed more relaxed now she had verbalized her concerns. Her hand had come to rest on his knee, and its warmth soaked through the cloth into his skin. "As for my intentions..." he asked. "Are we in trouble here? I know we've been following the general outline of your culture's traditions but I get the feeling we've skipped ahead a bit."

Her lips curved upward. "We have, a bit. We have foregone many of the normal rituals and modified or shortened others. This was condoned due to our particular circumstances and to our relative status in our respective governments. But now we have come to a point where our relationship requires recognition from my clan. Draal has volunteered to stand in for Callenn, the designated elder. Callenn does not enjoy travel outside Minbar. He is old-fashioned that way." Her face settled into ironic lines. "My people leave exploration to the Warrior caste. My interest in alien cultures is considered eccentric, but my willingness to be 'hands-on' in my research is looked on as downright perverse.”

John looked down at her small hand, currently fingertip-walking from its original resting place on his knee directly northward. He cleared his throat. “All right. Is there anything I need to know before I meet Draal?”

Delenn's smile twisted enigmatically. “Just be yourself, John. I am certain that will be sufficiently...” Her voice lowered to a throaty purr. “Impressive.”

Her hand reached its goal and John suppressed a moan as he reached for her, scattering cushions and papers aside as he used the last of his independent thought to call out “Door, secure lock, open on my command.”

“As you wish,” replied Delenn.

****************

John made it back to his own quarters late that night. It had taken more than a little time to finish all the work he'd neglected that morning. He took a quick shower, and was toweling his hair dry on his way to the kitchen when a crackle in the air put him on instant alert. Moving quickly to the chest where he kept his spare sidearm, he was stopped in his tracks before he could reach it by a loud guttural laugh.

A large Minbari in informal robes belonging to the Religious caste stood in his living room, surrounded by a golden glow which was the source of the sizzling noise. John thought it must be some kind of force field and circled it cautiously, still edging his way towards his potentially useless weapon.

“Captain Sheridan, I apologize for this unorthodox intrusion.” The older man's eyes sparkled, warm within the web of lines that etched his broad face. “I am Draal,” the Minbari continued in explanation, as John continued to look at him warily.

“Draal!” exclaimed John. “Delenn's Draal?” He ran his hand through his damp hair, having dropped the towel in his haste to reach his PPG. Gesturing toward the open door leading to the bedroom, where his clothes lay neatly on the bed, he attempted to remark casually, “If you'll excuse me?”

Draal looked down at the second towel loosely circling John's hips. “Oh,” he said abruptly. “Of course.” As John hastily got dressed behind the translucent glass, Draal rambled on. “I thought a more informal meeting might be in order. Besides," his deep voice rumbled, "I was anxious to meet you.” As he talked he walked about the room, examining the art on the walls and the bric-a-brac and photos on the shelves.

John emerged, having opted for his uniform shirt and pants. He'd foregone the jacket although he'd hesitated at first, uncertain what impression he wanted to make. Draal had indicated this was to be a casual visit both with his words and his entrance, so that's how he would play it too. Walking to the kitchen he pulled down a cup and flipped a switch to heat water. “Can I get you something?” he asked automatically, forgetting the unique circumstances of his guest.

Draal smiled. “I wish I could accept your hospitality, but this holographic form is, of course, incapable of ingesting anything.” He made an expansive gesture, “But please...go ahead.”

“Thanks,” replied John, amused at the bite of irony. Who was asking whose permission here? He made his tea and joined Draal in the living room. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair as he sat down on one end of the couch. Draal puffed out his robes and even though he was completely insubstantial, he still seemed to settle deeply and comfortably into the wide armchair.

They stared at each other in a slightly awkward but strangely companionable silence for a few moments, then John spoke. “So how does this go?”

Draal's face grew serious. “There is a prescribed set of questions and ritual answers. Quite a lengthy list, actually. Traditionally there are witnesses to each stage of the questioning. There are prayers. If there are challenges, then there are traditional responses..." At John's suppressed sigh, Draal's face broke out in a broad smile. "But I have my own methods," he said.

"You do," said John, wishing one more time that he hadn't given up drinking. "Care to enlighten me as to what these methods might be?"

Draal laced his fingers together and settled them across his stomach. "In all seriousness, Captain Sheridan, I have studied your record and the history of your world. There is really only one thing I want to know." He leaned slightly forward and asked intently, "Tell me, do you like Delenn?"

"I love her," John answered without hesitation, adding with emphasis, "I'd trust her with my life."

"I believe you," replied Draal. "But do you like her?"

John looked nonplussed. "Of course I do! What are you getting at?"

"Delenn plays many roles in this life; she is a leader and a follower, a priestess and an acolyte, a politician and a diplomat. She is a bridge between the future and the past of our people." Draal intoned this litany solemnly, but then his face softened. "She will always be, to me at least, a charming child, highly intelligent and fiercely loyal. A little lost at times, often wise beyond her years. Vulnerable at her heart." He cocked his head to one side, examining John closely. "What do you like about her?"

John sat quiet for a moment, considering the question seriously. "I like her honesty. She listens, like no one I've ever met before, and respects your opinion even when she disagrees with it." He looked down at his hands, loosely clasped, forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward. "Her faith, in other people and in the Universe, is extraordinary. Her light shines through – even when everything is dark. She makes me laugh." Opening his hands, palms upwards, he concluded, "I don't know what else to say."

Draal laughed, a great big belly laugh that would have shaken the room if he'd actually been there in the flesh. "You'll do, Captain."

John stared for a moment, then started to laugh too. "Is that it?" he asked, grinning widely. "I got the impression from Delenn that this was a big deal."

Sobering slightly, Draal replied, "Minbari do nothing without the approval of their clan, of the elders. Delenn has pushed the boundaries of our traditions for a long time. It is fortunate that Callenn was persuaded to leave this ritual to me."

John shifted position uneasily. "Are you saying that if you, or Callenn, said no to our relationship, she would give it up?"

"I do not know," said Draal gently. "But it would have been difficult for her to continue. She is Minbari still, and our traditions are an integral part of us."

The Minbari's eyes were fixed on John, as if he was waiting for some further reaction. John shook his head. "I think she would have found a way. But even if she didn't, I'd love her just the same."

"Groovy!" exclaimed Draal.

John stared. "Excuse me?" he said.

"It's a human phrase," said Draal in an injured tone, “I'm quite certain it's correct. I've been studying your history, particularly that of your home region. I've just reached the 21st century. The Great Machine is very conducive to research, very immersive." He leaned forward and asked intently, "Can you tell me about the two tribes that warred just before this period? It was a long drawn-out conflict covering much of your planet. What were they called? The Bears and the Eagles?"

John's mind slipped a gear, or maybe several, but he tried valiantly to recover fleeting memories of the old Earth history classes required at the academy. "The Cold War, right? They weren't exactly tribes..."

"It seemed very much like two dominant castes leaning on unallied clans, forcing them to engage in a proxy war." Draal said. "We saw similar strategies in our own past, long ago, in the years before Valen." He smiled eagerly. "Military history is not a subject normally covered in temple, but I did a course of individualized instruction with Durhan himself. The strategy of warfare is very reminiscent of political maneuvering. Only with more explosions." His face settled into a studied blank expression as he continued, "I wonder if you would mind describing your actions as regards the Drala'fi."

John sat in silence for one long moment. The question was both unexpected and unsurprising. "No regrets. It was an act of war, and the tactic was acceptable by human standards. "

Draal was motionless for some time. "The message you sent was a lie."

"It was not a lie," returned John evenly. "The Lexington was dead in the sky. If the Black Star hadn't come forward to deliver the death blow to a stranded and disarmed ship it would not have been destroyed." John's mouth set in a grim line.

Draal dropped his head in acquiescence. "I suppose that is true. Our Warrior caste, however, does not see it that way."

"Your Warrior caste was committing genocide," replied John, now struggling to remain calm. "I never understood why. None of us did." He regained control with an effort. "I know it wasn't all of you. There was at least one attempt at brokering peace." Clasping his hands together, he looked down at the floor. "All soldiers understand that things happen in war. Things that would never happen in other circumstances. This," he paused, and continued voice thick with emotion, "this was difficult to understand. It began with a misunderstanding and ended in a mystery."

Draal sighed and regarded John solemnly. "The war will always lie between the two of you, whether understood or not. It can be a bridge or a divide. What is certain is that an alliance between Delenn and Starkiller will remain an issue with some of our people."

John nodded. "I know. It's just...well, we don't talk about it. I don't want to talk about it...and I don't get the idea that Delenn does either."

"You are undoubtedly correct. Personally I consider it none of my affair, as of now. If Callenn has further questions regarding this matter he can refer them to me." Draal stood abruptly and shook out the virtual creases in his glowing robes. "I suppose we will still have to perform the ritual tomorrow."

John's lips formed the question, "Really?" but he straightened and nodded in assent. "Delenn expects it."

Draal leaned down towards John and confided. "She can be a bit, well, rigid, can't she?" As he began to fade around the edges, he added, "There's more to this ritual than words. I'll think of something."

*********************

The following day John and Delenn took a two person shuttle down to Epsilon Three. Delenn led the way through tunnels and corridors of old stone to the cavern at the heart of the planet. John kept lagging behind his guide, fascinated by the machinery revealed by every twist and turn of the path. Delenn had gone ahead, but paused when they reached the causeway. She hung over the railing looking into the depths of the ancient Machine that housed her old friend. John observed her surreptitiously, noting the evidence of lack of sleep, the tension in the hands that gripped the rail.

"You all right?" he asked, joining her. The blue light from the pulsing machine lit her face, heightening her pallor. "It'll be okay today. I'm sure of it."

"Draal is certainly a more sympathetic judge than others. But he will fulfill his responsibility to my clan honestly, and with honor." Her voice was apprehensive, and a little sad.

John took her hand, detaching it from the rail and enclosing it in his. "Come on, let's get this over with." He pulled her gently towards the figure hanging in the cradle at the end of the causeway. As they reached the platform the older Minbari began disentangling himself from various wires and tubes. He stepped down from the Machine, stumbling slightly as his feet reached the floor. John made a move towards the older man to help, but stopped when the Minbari waved him away. Straightening his robes, Draal stood carefully upright and then opened his arms wide. Delenn let go of John's hand and walked into her old tutor's embrace.

"It is always worth leaving the Machine to greet you, Delenn. I hope you are well?" Draal held her at arm's length, examining her closely. Then he turned accusingly to John, "She does not look well."

John returned his gaze steadily. "She's fine."

Draal shook his head. "She is unhappy." He glared at John over Delenn's head.

"She's worried," John glared back. He didn't know where this was going. Last night it had seemed settled; a few questions, some hand-waving and recitations, another obstacle overcome. They would be done, at least for now. What was going on?

Draal dropped his arms, releasing Delenn. "Then we should alleviate any fears she might have."

John nodded cautiously, "Okay. Let's do that."

Delenn looked from one to the other in consternation. "You two are acting very strangely." Putting one hand on Draal's arm, she asked, "When will you begin your questions, Draal?

"All done, my dear." Draal patted her hand. "I'm already finished."

"What do you mean?" Delenn asked forcefully. "This cannot be all there is!" Her eyes widened. "You must do this properly, Draal. Our union," she blushed fiercely, "any potential union between John and myself would not be recognized by my clan without the proper rituals."

Draal looked stubbornly back at her. "I would not do anything to jeopardize your happiness. You must trust me to know what is right." He pulled a tightly rolled scroll of creamy paper out of an inner pocket of his robe. "My decision is here. Please refrain from reading it until you can do it together, in private." He regarded them both, tight-lipped and stern. "This is my final word on the subject."

"Draal!" remonstrated John. Delenn had turned away, clutching the scroll. John could feel both anger and uncertainty emanating from her. Attempting to reassure her, he said, "It's all right, honey. Draal asked his questions last night." Turning back to the older Minbari, who has ascended to his position in the Great Machine's interface and was re-integrating himself into the cradle, John asked, temper rising, "Isn't that right, Draal?"

"Good-bye, Captain. I hope to see you again. Delenn, do not wait so long between visits." The Minbari's eyes closed, and he stiffened back against the burnished metal, then relaxed into the embrace of the Machine.

Delenn did not speak during the walk back to the shuttle. As they left the stone caverns and regained clear communication to the station, John's link sounded with an urgent beep that repeated at regular intervals. Excusing himself, he answered the call with curt, clipped responses, swallowing back the temptation to curse all station emergencies. As they fastened themselves into their seats, he took one more call. "That's torn it," he said. "I have to go straight to C&C when we get back. Don't know how long I'll be." He gestured towards the scroll she had carefully placed in the console between their seats. "You want to open that now?"

She shook her head. "Not now." She didn't say anything more during the short trip back. When they reached the entrance to the station, she bowed slightly in his direction, and murmured, "I will see you this evening?"

He quickly answered, "I'll be over as soon as I can get away. Then we'll hash this out." Then he watched her walk away, body stiff and head held tall. Sighing deeply, he hurried off toward C&C and the latest emergency.

*********************

It was several hours later when John reached Delenn's quarters. He hesitated outside the door, wondering how the evening would end, and whether they would still be together afterwards. He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat as he thought of losing her, but remembering what he had told Draal the previous evening, he pulled back his shoulders into parade position and hit the door chime. Whatever happened, he loved her, and he had to hold on to that.

The door swooshed open, and he strode in, radiating confidence. "Hey," he said, "How was your day, the rest of it, I mean? Are you ready to look at Draal's verdict?"

Delenn sat on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. The scroll laid in solitary splendor on the low coffee table in front of the couch. John couldn't help but notice with interest that Delenn was dressed for bed, wearing a white sheath underneath a thin blue robe that clung to her every curve. Sitting down next to her on the couch, he placed his hands on his knees and stared at the scroll, then over at Delenn. She looked pale but composed. Gently, as reiterated his question. "Are you ready?

Delenn smiled briefly over at him, then considered the thick irregularly-edged parchment, held in a tight circle by black and red circles of silk, with trailing edges that pooled on the glass of the table. "I have decided not to open it," she said simply.

"I don't understand," John said, surprised, and trying to think out all the possible ramifications of her decision. "I thought this was a big deal; something you wanted to do...hell, that you had to do. Are you afraid he's come down against us?"

"It is not a matter of 'for' or 'against', but what is best for me, for my clan, and for our people," replied Delenn. She crossed her hands at the knee, and sat up very straight. "When I made the decision to go into the chrysalis, it was not approved of by all factions of my government. Our relationship is not approved of either...not by all Minbari or by all humans. Still my transformation was right, and this is right, for me." She looked up at him, a slight hesitation in her voice, and said, "And you, John? Is it right for you?"

He froze for a moment, struck by the almost ritual solemnity of her words. Why didn't they have emotional translators as well as linguistic ones? They'd come in handy intra-species as well as inter-species. "Yes," he finally answered after clearing his throat which had inexplicably tightened. "It's more than right."

She remained silent, though the color had returned to her cheeks. Tension still radiated from her although it was lessening by the minute. John added gently, "I would never ask you to go against your traditions, Delenn."

"I know," she replied, a touch of her usual serenity reasserting itself. "That is why I can."

They sat together, close, barely touching but aware of each other as the planet-bound are of the passage of the sun through the sky. John took her hand and let it lay in his palm like a leaf returned to the earth from which it came. He wondered at the efficacy of Minbari ritual; how it laid you open like a knife, cutting through layers of public posturing to pierce through to the soul.

"I told Draal I'd love you just the same," he said, half to himself.

"The same as whom?" replied Delenn. She'd relaxed enough to curl up against his side and he had turned to present a broader surface on which she could rest her head.

"Not the same as someone else, the same whatever he said or whatever you decided to do," he explained, cursing the sometime incoherence of the English language, at least as he practiced it. He was momentarily distracted by relief that this particular ritual or trial or whatever it was, hadn't required any answers from him in Adronato. So far he'd managed by memorizing his responses phonetically, but he was dismally aware that this wasn't going to cut it later on.

A bit of tension had returned to her slight body, and John cradled her against his chest, his right arm encircling her shoulders, her hand enclosed in his. There was something more bothering her.

"There are things you do not know about me," she began slowly, speaking into his chest. "Things that might change your mind about me."

John remembered Draal's words about the war, and forestalled any incipient confession. "The past should stay in the past, Delenn. An old friend told me that once.” He brushed his cheek over the smooth warmth of the crest buried in her hair. “She said that the past should inform the present, but not intrude on it.”

"An old friend?" answered Delenn, a spark of curiosity enlivening her voice.

John shifted uneasily and gave a short laugh. "So much for the past staying there." He let go her hand and ran his through his hair, leaving it ruffled. This was not like the war. It was personal and she needed to know. He took a deep breath and continued. "Her name was Elizabeth. I was um, married to her once upon a time. Before Anna." He added, memory reflected in shadow, "It was a very long time ago."

Delenn paled, then flushed. She started to speak, stopped, then sat upright and took John's head between her small strong hands. She stroked her thumbs along his cheeks, slightly rough with the day's accumulation of stubble. “She sounds a very wise woman, this Elizabeth of yours.” A tremble of uncertainty shook her voice.

“She was never mine, that's not how it works,” replied John. “She was her own woman, just like Anna. But there was never an 'us' with Elizabeth. It just never happened. We fought each other more than we fought for each other. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” said Delenn, a smile shooting through her solemn expression like the sun's rays parting a grey bank of clouds. “I would fight for you, you know that.”

“No one I'd rather have in my corner,” replied John, touched both by her acceptance and her sudden ferocity.

She snuggled back under his arm, and warmth flooded through him. They were going to make it, through all the obstacles and over all the hurdles and past all the rituals. Thinking of rituals brought his attention back to the unopened scroll, which he eyed with growing curiosity.

“You cannot leave it alone, can you?” Delenn picked up the scroll and watched his eyes follow it. Laughter bubbled out of her. “Open it then. Just remember, I no longer acknowledge its authority.”

“I just want to know,” mumbled John as he ripped off the silken ties. “I don't understand what Draal is up to; everything seemed all right last night.” Laying the cream-colored missive on the table, he pinned it flat with a candle holder and a glass prism at two opposite corners. Staring down at the stylized blue image on the paper, he raised one eyebrow high, and then looked at Delenn. Her expression was even more confused than his own. John picked it up, narrowly escaping upsetting the prism and turned it around and around, looking at it from all angles.

Delenn said doubtfully, “Is it a hand? Perhaps a fist?”

“Ye-e-s,” drawled John uncertainly. “Maybe.” He made his hand into a fist, leaving the thumb outside the fingers and held straight, turning it up and down. Leaving it up, he said, “I think this is an old symbol to do with hitchhikers. Stephen showed me once; he did a bit of travel that way when he was younger. Very old school of course, nowadays they use sub-stream receivers. You turn it on, walk through the ports and the ships that are taking on last minute passengers with alternate payment methods ping the receiver. Then you can pick the one that's going your general direction...”

Delenn held up one hand. “This is fascinating, but I do not think Draal wants us to run off together on the next outgoing ship.” Her eyes sparkled, “Although the idea is more appealing that I would have expected.”

John grinned at her and said, “I'll remember you said that next time things get crazy around here. Of course it could be a thumbs-up sign; that's good, that would mean approval.”

Delenn took the paper from his hand and turned it around. “And is there a sign where the thumb points down?”

John grabbed it back from her. “No. Not a possibility. Don't even think it. And you don't care anyway.”

“That is true,” replied Delenn. She dropped the paper to the table. Rising from the couch, she stood looking down at John. She slipped the deep blue robe off her shoulders and let it fall around her feet. Standing erect in her white shift, John thought she almost glowed with love and happiness. Holding out her hands, she took his and waited until he rose to his feet.

John let her settle into his arms, and looked over her head at the paper as it rolled back into a loose coil. Running one finger under the thin strap that held on her nightclothes, he edged it over her shoulder, calculating in the back of his mind exactly how long it would take him to shed his uniform. “I'm pretty sure Draal likes our relationship just fine. In any case,” and he nodded at the message from the older Minbari as he stepped back a half step, shedding his jacket and rapidly starting on the buttons of his shirt, “I think we can take that message as a permission slip.”


End file.
